Chapter 5 - TRACKING A MONSTER
The next forty-eight hours were a relentless, agonizing blur of police activity, legal red tape, and agonizing hospital visits. Mason was recovering. The doctors assured us that infants were incredibly resilient, and with the right care, his physical wounds would heal completely without lasting damage. But the psychological toll on our family was a festering wound that refused to close.
Thomas was officially cleared of all charges, but the trauma of his ordeal left him a shell of the vibrant, confident man I had raised. He sat in Mason’s hospital room for hours on end, gently holding his son's tiny hand, refusing to eat or sleep, jumping at every shadow that crossed the doorway.
Meanwhile, the Columbus Police Department, working in tandem with the FBI, had launched a massive, multi-state manhunt for the woman we knew as Ellie.
I sat in Detective Miller’s office at the precinct, drinking my fourth cup of bitter coffee. The walls were covered in whiteboards, maps, and photographs. The ledger had provided a treasure trove of aliases, but Ellie was a ghost. She had meticulously wiped her digital footprint. She didn't use credit cards in her own name, she only drove untraceable rental cars, and her burner phones were destroyed the moment she felt the heat closing in.
"We got a hit," Miller announced, bursting into the office with a stack of fresh printouts. He looked exhausted, his tie loosened and sleeves rolled up. "Interpol ran the fingerprints we pulled from the hidden safe. Her real name is Katerina Volkov. Born in Russia, moved to the States when she was twelve. She’s been running high-level grifts since she was nineteen."
"Has she ever been caught?" I asked, my heart pounding as I stared at a mugshot from ten years ago. It was Ellie, but her hair was blonde, her face harder, her eyes cold and dead.
"Once," Miller grimaced. "In Florida. But the charges didn't stick because the primary witness—her husband at the time—committed suicide before the trial. Or at least, it was ruled a suicide. Based on what we know now, I'm guessing she staged it to tie up loose ends."
A cold sweat broke out across my neck. "She's a murderer."
"She's a survivor," Miller corrected darkly. "Which makes her infinitely more dangerous. She doesn't kill for thrill. She kills to protect her freedom and her bottom line. And right now, Thomas is the only loose end standing between her and a life sentence."
My phone vibrated violently in my purse, shattering the tense silence of the office. I pulled it out. The caller ID was blocked.
Miller immediately held up a hand, his eyes widening. He grabbed a small recording device from his desk and plugged it into a receiver, nodding for me to answer and put it on speaker.
I took a deep breath, my hands shaking so badly I almost dropped the phone. "Hello?"
"Helen," a voice purred through the speaker. It was smooth, melodic, and sickeningly familiar. It was Ellie. But the sweet, deferential tone she always used with me was gone, replaced by a cold, metallic edge that sent a shiver straight down my spine.
"Where are you?" I demanded, trying to channel every ounce of anger I possessed to mask my absolute terror.
"Oh, Helen, always so aggressive," Ellie laughed softly. "I'm calling to offer a trade. A business transaction, if you will."
"You are a monster," I spat. "You tortured my grandson. You held a gun to my son's head!"
"Business is business, Helen. Thomas was weak. He was never going to have the stomach to claim his grandfather's trust, so I was simply speeding up the process. But things got messy. So, here is the deal. I want the two million from the trust. Wired to an offshore account in the Caymans. I’ll text you the routing numbers."
"You're insane," I snapped. "The police have your ledger. The FBI knows your real name, Katerina. You are never getting a dime."
There was a long, chilling pause on the other end of the line. When Ellie spoke again, the playfulness was entirely gone.
"You think you're safe because you have police protection, Helen? You think a few badges can stop me? I know the hospital layout. I know the shift changes. I know exactly when the nurses leave the neonatal ICU unattended. If that money isn't wired by midnight tonight, I won't just kill Thomas. I will come to that hospital, and I will finish what I started in that bathtub."
The line clicked dead.
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Miller and I stared at each other in sheer, unadulterated horror.
"Lock down the hospital," Miller yelled into his radio, sprinting out of the office. "I want armed units on every floor! Nobody gets in or out without a badge and a full pat-down! Move!"
